Caprice

by Amanda Carpenter

  In an agony of distaste for her mother’s obvious coyness, she carefully set aside her utensils, put her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her folded hands. Beyond her sight and to her left, Ricky closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. Richard was frowningly silent.

  Unable to refrain from seeing how Pierce reacted to her mother, she glanced up, eyes hard, and met his dark gaze resting on her. He looked gentle, which shocked her more than anything else would have, and then he turned to Irene and answered, scrupulously polite, “Perhaps Caprice didn’t speak of it because she had such an unpleasant time. Our lodge is by a lake. She—had a bit of an accident, and went underwater when she least expected it.”

  Her mother said in quite a different voice, “Oh! Oh, dear. Well, she never could abide that.”

  Ricky touched her knee with his right hand, under the table, and she turned to have him give her a sympathetic smile. Smoothly, Pierce was replying, “Far from simple dislike, Mrs. Hagan, she came up terrified.” He turned to Richard then, and commented easily, “I hear you’re thinking of expansion.”

  She looked quickly to her father. He just smiled. “That’s right. Who told you about it?”

  Successfully the conversation turned to other things, leaving her mother momentarily nonplussed and herself feeling quite odd. No, tell it like it is, Cap, she told herself, you’re feeling grateful. At all accounts, at least he could handle her mother.

  Ricky excused himself over the coffee and dessert, and it seemed soon after that her parents were making some pretext to leave them alone together too. With a furious disgust, she thought it no better than when she had entertained her boyfriends at home when she was in high school, instead of sitting across from a fully adult, fully capable man.

  She sat quite still, an unconscious remnant of her childhood days when she would hide in the most ridiculous places and think that no one could see her. Though he had been quite smooth and comfortable when keeping the conversation light, now he didn’t say a thing, and the silence stretched until the atmosphere was thin and nearly unbearable.

  Her screaming nerves made the slight sound of his chair scraping back almost intolerable, like nails screeching on a blackboard. She refused to look at him, struggling to keep her expression a still, calm mask.

  He walked away to the end of the room and then back in slow, slow footsteps. Then, with that quiet anger she’d come to know so well, he said, “There’s no need to be so acutely embarrassed, you know. Would you rather I just left?”

  That had her head jerking up and her eyes widening. Only then did she realize how frustrating he, too, had found the evening. It gentled her expression into ruefulness. “I didn’t think it showed so obviously. Would you like to leave?”

  He looked deep into her eyes, bending over her seated figure. “I would like to know what you’re thinking. I would like to know how you felt when you knew I was here.”

  She bent her head and put a hand to her forehead. “I guess I’m wondering why you came over,” she admitted.

  His hand came out, and she watched it with the fascination of one hypnotized. Then he touched her, warm fingers moving against the side of her face, a light and shivery caress. He whispered, “You should be asking instead why I came to Virginia in the first place.”

  She began to tremble, and closed her eyes against it, and him. “Oh, no. Don’t say it.”

  His fingers turned hard, slipping under her chin and giving her a yank. “Look at me. You asked, but you don’t want to know. I left the office early, took a flight down and drove over to see you. I want to spend the weekend with you. Are you free?”

  She shoved his hand away and stood. “No. Go back to New York.”

  “Is that what you want?” He was quite near and not backing down. When she had stood, she’d meant to slip from him and put distance between them, but somehow got tangled into a confused desire to step toward him instead of away.

  She lifted heavy eyelids to stare at him without flinching. “Yes.” Her mouth drew tight.

  Incredibly, he grinned. “You’re lying.” He drew even closer, put both hands lightly to her upper arms to coax her into leaning to him, and brought his mouth down. His whisper tickled her lips. “You’re lying through your delectable teeth.” His tongue slipped into her parted mouth to run tantalizingly over them, lightning fast.

  Her mouth parted even further on a shocked gasp, and she leaped back as if stung. She brought her forefinger up, sticking it stiffly under his nose. “Stop it. Stop it.”

  Glee danced then in those sparkling eyes. He snatched at her hand, brought it near and nipped at her fingernail with his own strong white teeth. She curled it in protest. “Admit it. You liked it.”

  “Quit teasing me.” She was horrifyingly close to tears, and cursed herself for a fool.

  “But you’re so painfully serious around me. Not with anyone else, just me.” He had not let go of her hand despite her none too gentle tugs, and he bent his head, resting his cheek against her knuckles, while searching her eyes from under his brows. “Have dinner with me tomorrow. Have breakfast, too. Let’s spend the day together.”

  “Go away,” she gritted, longing to say yes, knowing she shouldn’t.

  He let her go so fast, she blinked. “All right,” he agreed. She felt a stupid desolation. “On one condition. You really want me to go away, you tell me why. No lies, no prevarications, just the unvarnished truth.”

  A quick, bitter twist of the lips. “How would you know if I did?”

  “I’d trust your integrity.” That shook her, and he could see it. A weary, unamused smile creased his lips.

  She turned away and looked blankly over the dining room. It stayed the same through the years, still, untouched by time. She was the one who changed. Her back to him, her head turned sideways so that she could hear his movements, she sighed. How bizarre. So few people ever asked for the truth from her. And she would give them an acceptable version, and they would be satisfied. She wondered if any of them realized the many layers of truth that existed, as many as the people populating the earth.

  “I overheard you and your mother last weekend.” Yes, that was true. He was still, like unmoving stone. “But I’d already come to the same conclusions. You and I, we’re too different.” I’m afraid of you. “Perhaps at first we’d enjoy being with each other. But then you would want something from me that I couldn’t give, or I would want it from you.” You make me feel stranger than I’ve ever felt before. You make me feel.

  He came close, put his hands on her shoulders, fingers curving lightly, and he pulled her back to him. With his head bent, he whispered into her ear, “Do you think people have to be alike before they can enjoy one another? If you overheard our conversation, then you must have heard my reply to her. She said we were exact opposites. I said I knew that, and it was the major reason why I was attracted to you.”

  Without even realizing, she laid her head back to his blue sweater. He drew in a careful breath, and one hand left her shoulder to stroke at her hair. “I didn’t hear. I must have already headed back to the library.”

  “We don’t have to hurt each other. We have that choice. Why don’t we just take things as they come, instead of worrying so much that it cripples us? Do you want to spend the day with me tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and that, too, was the truth. A strange and trembling excitement filled her as she gave into her wishes and his persuasion.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.” He waited a moment, but she didn’t or couldn’t say anything. “All right?”

  “Yes.” Bare thread of sound. She felt him relax at her back and emit a low laugh.

  “Good. I’ll be leaving, then. Tomorrow’s going to come early.” She walked him to the front door, hearing the dissimilar sounds of their footsteps intermingling, the light tap tap of her heels with the heavier sound of his. When they reached the door, and she opened it with slow hands, she was warm and lightly flushed with the half- acknowl
edged hope that he would take her, hold her, open his mouth hungrily over hers and drink her dry…

  She turned to him and searched his dark eyes, but found nothing but a smile. The chilly wind blew over them like an invisible cloak, stirring his black hair. The air felt wet and heavy, full of rain. He bent close, saying lightly, “See you in the morning, sweetheart.” His lips brushed her cheek.

  Light and meaningless, like the first smile he’d given her that evening, soft as when he had brushed them against the nape of her neck, brief and frustrating when all she could think of, all she could want, was the hardened, exciting feel of his lips rough on hers.

  She turned her head before she knew she wanted to, and met his mouth with hers already open. A heart-thudding, still moment, and then he carefully kissed her back, measured, controlled, and pulled away. He looked odd, his face rather set, eyes full of the black, outside night, and then he smiled in her general direction, muttered another good night and lightly raced down the steps. She watched him uncomprehendingly as he reached the Jaguar and got in, the first heavy drops of rain splattering on his head and shoulders.

  She shut the door, locked it too carefully and then leaned against it as she stared down at the fingers that shook, showing her discomposure. No passion. No emotion in that kiss. Certainly no anger, as there had been the last time.

  Gradually her leaping senses calmed, and she began to think more coolly. She found that, as she was free of his presence, so then was she free of her conviction-weakening desire to get near him, get to him, to drown in the heady feelings that were aroused whenever she was around him. She shook her head in wonder at what he brought out in her, and then moved slowly for the den. Liz had been in the room to pick up the used glasses and wash them, so she rummaged for a clean one under the bar, set it on the counter and then forgot about it. She leaned her elbows on the quality, glossy wood and put her face in her hands.

  She wished, achingly, that she’d had a different influence from her mother when she’d been a young child. She remembered those early days. Her mother had been a goddess, a lovely, spellbinding, fascinating parent. She remembered wryly how she used to perch on the counter by her parents’ bathroom sink, watching Irene put on her makeup before a party. Glittering, beautiful clothes, a light, tinkling laugh, effusive affection showered on her when Irene had the time, so many things impressing themselves on a young, adoring person.

  Caprice knew what she wanted out of life. She wanted to be just like her mother. And so she grew, watching, learning, assimilating.

  She took a good, cold, calculating look at herself. Would she be happy doing anything else? The answer was quick, blunt and rather devastating. No. She didn’t want a career that absorbed her free time and tied her to responsibility and commitments. She didn’t want to forsake the parties, the teas, the fun and the laughter. She liked to dress well, and she liked other people to know it. And, fortunately, she had a father wealthy enough to see her secure for the rest of her life.

  As she had grown older, though, she’d begun to see her parents in a different light. Irene was as lovely in maturity as she had been in her youth. But Caprice also loved her father, and throughout her teens became gradually aware that Richard and Irene at best tolerated each other. Her mother’s glitter went just exactly skin deep; underneath it, Irene was a shallow woman. And Richard, hardworking, career-oriented, influential, was as different from his wife as night was from day. They didn’t understand each other. He was heartily bored with the details in Irene’s life, as she was with his. They existed.

  Caprice often wished that she had taken after her father. She grasped business concepts, was intelligent and quick with numbers, but she had no more desire to work in the family business than she would wish to work at the local car wash. And she knew the kind of man she should meet and fall in love with. He should be witty, a good socializer, charming and interested in the same things that she was.

  He wasn’t a bit like Pierce. Pierce was a lot like her father. Pierce was responsible, quiet, deep. He was sexy, he was devastatingly attractive to her, he was dangerous. She should run screaming in the other direction.

  But she wasn’t. She’d agreed to see him tomorrow, and wanted to see him Sunday. She shouldn’t fall for him. She knew that. One look at her parents was enough to convince her of that. But this weekend, what could one weekend hurt? She would see him, laugh with him, look at him and perhaps let herself care a little for two days. Just this one weekend. And she wouldn’t see him again after this.

  Surely she could control herself that long.

  She bumped the empty glass with her elbow and remembered that she was making herself a drink. But she didn’t want it anymore, and tucked the glass away again as her father strolled into the den.

  He sent a quick glance to her as though she were a chair, and then went to the window at the far end of the room. She knew immediately that it was all a front, and he was there purposefully to speak to her. He cleared his throat and rocked back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. She loved him very much.

  “Langston’s gone, I see,” he said to the curtains.

  “Yes, he left not that long ago,” she quietly replied. “Would you like a drink?”

  He did, and she poured him a brandy, his favorite after-dinner liquor. “Seems to be a good man.” She walked over to him, and gave him the snifter.

  “Yes, I believe he is.”

  “You seeing him?” The question was short to the point of terseness, yet she didn’t take it amiss. He was interested in her life, and she appreciated it.

  “This weekend I am. I—don’t think there’s a future in it.” She ran her eyes over her father’s graying head and distinguished figure with affection.

  He turned his head and looked her directly in the eye. “Too bad. I was thinking.” He fell silent, and her attention sharpened. “We need to sit down for a talk, you and I. It’s time you had more independence. I’m going to set up an annuity for you and stipulate its continuance in my will so that you’re taken care of.”

  She touched his sleeve and rubbed up and down lightly. “Surely there’s plenty of time for that?” she murmured, disturbed by the talk.

  He shrugged. “Never know. I’m already fifty, and I’m not getting any younger. Anyway, that’s not the point. Somewhere along the line, why, I guess you grew up without me knowing it.” His gray eyes met hers, and she saw his pride in her. “Think of it. You’re already twenty-two and a fine young lady. You’ll be wanting to do things, to go places, and—well, we need to sit down and have a talk.”

  “I love you, Dad,” she whispered quietly.

  He smiled. “You kids have to leave sometime. Sooner or later, and I know it. But it won’t be the same without you around here.” His smile faded, and he briefly looked old and sad. “Just won’t be the same.” She went up on her toes and pressed a kiss on his cheek. He put his arms around her and hugged her tight, and then told her good night in a perfectly normal voice. After he left, she found his brandy, untouched, on a nearby table. Carefully, she poured it back in the bottle, spilling only a few drops. Then she took the glass to the kitchen, clean and empty as Liz had quit for the evening, and she washed it up. She couldn’t think why her eyes blurred unexpectedly and made her small task impossible to see.

  Chapter Seven

  She readied herself for bed and fell into it without much hope of sleeping, and sure enough, she tossed and turned for most of the night. As a consequence she overslept, and Liz woke her just before seven with the news that Pierce had already arrived and was waiting downstairs for her.

  Feeling befuddled, she stumbled out of bed, threw on her pale blue bathrobe, and went to the head of the stairs to call softly down. Pierce immediately appeared from the direction of the den, and she saw the quick grin that slashed across his features. “I’m sorry,” she said, pushing her tousled hair from her forehead. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. I just wanted to ask you about what I should wear.”

 
“Something sturdy and casual should do it, I think,” he replied, taking his time as he looked her over from head to foot. His lids drew down, making him appear lazy, indolent. “Of course,” he added silkily, “there’s not a thing wrong with what you’re wearing.”

  She laughed and let her hair fall forward in an attempt to hide her blush. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Coffee.” He was watching her, his head thrown back, with every sign of fascination.

  “Liz could fix us something to eat, if you’d like.”

  “Only if we can have it alone. I’m not in the mood to share you today,” he told her with a slow smile.

  “On Saturday, nobody around here shows for breakfast before nine,” she assured him with another laugh. Despite her broken sleep, she was beginning to feel positively cheerful. She started down the stairs, intending to talk to the housekeeper, but he forestalled her.

  “No, you go on and get dressed. I can talk to Liz.” He waved a hand at her, and she backed willingly enough up the steps, feeling a distinct vulnerability in her nightclothes. She could feel his eyes on her slim figure until she disappeared from his sight.

  Rushing through her bedroom to her small bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror for a brief, horrified moment, pressing hands against her cheeks. What a wreck she was! And she simply must wash her hair! Whirling around, she grabbed at her hairbrush, yanked it through her tangles a few times, wincing, stripped and let her clothes fall to the floor, and then jumped into the shower. Five minutes later, dripping wet, she shiveringly crept into her bedroom and drew out clothes. A glimpse outside at the overcast day had her grimacing as she dressed accordingly. Snug-fitting jeans were shaken out and then drawn over her hips. She then took a white, tailored blouse and drew that on, and pulled an oversized, bulky, light-brown sweater over it. Suede, low-heeled boots, a swept up, thigh-length jacket, and she was ready for just about anything.

  The sound of her skipping lightly down the stairs brought Pierce back into the hall. He walked toward her as she landed with a small, childish hop, dressed much the same as she was, in sturdy jeans, dark shoes and sweater. He looked lean and lovely, and she turned to toss her jacket into a hall chair in an attempt to hide her reaction to him.